Loved - A Novel (20 page)

              There would never come a day that I wouldn’t miss Chase. I promised to myself that I would always believe in an alternate universe in which we lived our artist life in our little apartment in the city, where nothing else mattered except that we were there together.

November 2005.

Chad and I were talking more seriously about marriage. He emailed me pictures of rings while I was at work, filling my head with daydreams and making it hard to focus. I would rather be on wedding websites, getting ideas for flowers, dresses and cakes, than calling two-step bars in Tucson asking if they wanted some Reba McEntire posters. 

              He started asking me if I would marry him much like he had told me he loved me—first out of the blue, then constantly. We’d be lying in bed in the apartment that he now lived in with his band’s drummer and he’d ask, “Will you marry me?” While the Mythbusters blew something up on TV, he’d ask “Will you marry me?” Driving to meet friends at a restaurant, he’d ask, “Will you marry me?”  I said yes every time.  He even began to refer to me as his fiancée.

My life was unfolding in front of me—a straight and narrow path. This was what being grown up was like. This was real life; things had turned out all right after all.

              My parents came to town to spend Thanksgiving with Chad’s family. It was the first time our parents would meet. It was a very big deal. Chad and I had been together for over a year and it was obvious that things were serious.

              Thanksgiving morning, Chad called.

              “My mom isn’t feeling well. Would you and your family mind fending for yourselves today? I’m so sorry…”

“No!” I insisted. “It’s Thanksgiving, we haven’t prepared, we can’t get food now! What’s going on?” 

              Chad admitted that his mom was having a breakdown and had locked herself in the bathroom. I had learned over the past year that this is something she did from time to time.
But not today!

              “Ok, I’ll take care of it,” he said.

              When we arrived, the house looked and smelled beautiful and his mom was smiling. I was going to have to deal with this forever, I thought, but Chad was worth it and I was sure that as far as in-laws went, it could have been much worse.

              Chad was barely present. He hardly paid attention to the conversation if he was even in the room at all. I wondered if his mother had done something to upset him.

              We were sound asleep in his bed the next week when his phone rang. “No, I’m sleeping. I’m not coming out tonight,” he told someone. Then he hung up the phone. “That was my friend Jordan. She always wants me to come out late at night,” he said. He held me tighter and fell back asleep while I wondered why I had never met Jordan and why he didn’t say, “I’m in bed with my girlfriend/fiancée/future wife.”

December 2005.

              I spent Christmas in Pittsburgh. Chad’s family was sad that I wouldn’t be able to be with them on Christmas so we had our own holiday celebration before I left. His mom had asked for a list of things that I wanted and I gave her a few ideas. She bought me all of them, which was nice and completely unexpected. I think she was overcompensating, but still, I was very touched. After I opened a new purse, a book, my favorite hair product and a bottle of perfume, Chad announced that he had to run off to an emergency band practice.

              “It’s my Christmas with your family,” I protested.

              “I know, Peanut, but the guys really need me and they’re already mad that I haven’t been around much.”

              My fault, of course.

              “Well, I’d like to stay and visit with your family then,” I said. I was being the good wife.

              He went.  I couldn’t believe it.

              A few nights later some friends of mine were having a Christmas party. Chad had plans with the guys and couldn’t come. We usually made it a point to plan guy’s nights and girl’s nights but not when one of us had something like this going on—an event that we should attend together. Half-heartedly apologetic, he said that he would call me when he could get away. Sophie and I went to the party together. I wore a festive burnt-orange and gold sweater with a falsely pleasant expression.

              The more time that passed without Chad calling, the more wine I drank. I talked with Lacey, with one of the guys from work and with some of the girls. I laughed and posed for pictures. Then I had more wine. I saw some of Ethan’s friends arrive so I texted him to see if he was coming too. He hadn’t been planning on it, but he said he would come by.

              I wandered in a wine fog to the little bathroom to pee and selected a Chanel perfume bottle from the shelf in the bathroom. I over-sprayed myself, as my sense of smell had been too dull to tell how much I had on.

              Ethan arrived and I stood near to him, clutching my wine, asking about his life and going on and on about my cool music business job, my absent fiancée and my condo that was under construction. My hands moved dramatically as I talked and I spilled some wine on my sweater. I brushed at it and kept talking
and smiling.

              Suddenly, Chad was there. I hadn’t seen him come in. 

“Hello,” he said, suspiciously. 

              “Oh!” I gulped. “Ethan, this is my boyfriend, Chad!”  Chad said hello and excused us. He pulled me away to where we could have our own conversation.

              “I came to take you home,” he said.

              “I’m not ready to leave yet!” I slurred. “And you’re supposed to be here to hang out with my friends too.”

              “You’re very drunk and I’m tired,” he said. “We need to go home.”

              We argued for a few more minutes before I gave a few sloppy goodbye hugs and pouted my way out the door.

              Once he had buckled my seatbelt, I set about the task of convincing him that I wasn’t drunk. I could hear my words slurring but I wouldn’t give up.

              “Who was that guy?” Chad asked.

              “Who? Oh, Ethan. An old friend from college,” I said casually.

              “Did you date him?”

              “No, just a friend,” I lied. 

              During the few minutes of silence that followed, I passed out. Chad helped me walk to his apartment and settled me in bed. 

              “Where did you get that perfume?” he asked when he climbed in the bed next to me.

              “Ummm, the ba...bathroom at the party,” I replied.

              “Don’t ever wear it again,” he said bluntly. He had been angry with me already, but wasn’t it his fault for not being there with me?

              “Why?” I whispered, glad that sleep would be an escape from the icy chill in his voice.             

              “My ex wore it,” he said. 

              “Oh. I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really sorry.” 

              I wanted him to hold me. I wanted him not to be mad at me anymore. What would I do if I lost him? I needed him not to be mad at me. He held me, but even in my sleep I knew that something was off. I thought it was my fault.

              The next day, on a dreary December Sunday morning, we had sex. It was so strange how it happened. We had waited over a year then suddenly, both sober and feeling sorry, we made the choice to go there.

              We looked into each other’s eyes. It was quiet, unlike our playful kissing and messing around. This was a band-aid, trying to fix a problem that I didn’t even recognize but was covering up. Afterward, we lay still and repeated over and over how we loved each other so very much—each making sure that the other was convinced that things were still the same. 

              But things weren’t the same. There was a little devil on my shoulder named Denial and I gave him all my attention, absentmindedly flicking away his friend called Wake-Up-and-Smell-the-End.             

              Sophie and I decided to host a New Year’s party. I had the perfect fuchsia and purple dress from Betsey Johnson. I had worn it on Valentine’s Day earlier that year when Chad brought me flowers and took me to Virago for dinner. That was when things were perfect.

              New Year’s Eve day I was preparing the food and confirming the details with some guests, many of whom were stopping by our place first before going to other parties. Chad called to announce that his roommate decided to throw a party too, and he had to stay there to protect his stuff. The last time that they had thrown a party someone peed in his room and he feared for the safety of his musical equipment. 

              “Just lock your door!” I told him. If he really wanted to be at my party, he could be.

              “It’s more than that,” he said.  “Most of the stuff in this apartment is mine and these people get out of control.”

              “Fine,” I said. “My party ends early anyway so why don’t you just stop by here towards the end of mine and then I’ll come with you to yours.” 

              He agreed.

              By the time Chad got to my place, everyone had left for the other parties and he was blasted drunk. Knowing that I had a right to be upset with him, he walked away from our conversation and went into the kitchen. I heard him make a drink and then slide down the wall and land on the kitchen floor with a thump.

              “Chad. Get up,” I said, walking into the kitchen and tugging on his limp arm. I could hear the countdown start on the TV.

              Ten.  Nine.

He looked up at me with a mischievous smile. 

              “I love you,” he said, getting up on one knee. “Will you marry me, peanut?

              Six.  Five.

              “Yes, yes,” I answered. “I will. I’m upset with you but I’m still going to marry you!”

              Two.  One.
             

He downed half his drink in one swallow.
 

              Happy New Year!

              The night only got worse. I changed into jeans and drove us back to his apartment where there was a raging party. Someone was throwing up in the bathroom and people were sitting on the kitchen counters yelling at other people in the same room. It was too loud for my sober mood.

              I said hello to some of Chad’s friends who had become my friends too, many of whom hugged me and wished me a happy new year. I was surprised by how many people that I didn’t know. When did he start hanging out with new people?

              I snapped some pictures of Chad and his friends whether I knew them or not and posed for a couple of shots with his band mates and some of the girls. One girl that I didn’t know who was pretty and thin with curly red hair took a picture with me. I think maybe I’d seen her at some of their shows but I couldn’t tell who she was there with.

              Suddenly Chad was in the mood to pay attention to me. He dragged me by the hand to his room and kissed me. I liked when his mouth tasted of alcohol, usually, but this was different. I could have lit his breath on fire. He tried to push me against the wall, playfully, but he pushed me so hard that I spun around and hit the wall face first.

              I heard my nose crack and it started gushing blood.  Chad was surprised and immediately remorseful. He ran to get me some tissue from the bathroom across the hall. I sat on the bed and held the tissue to my nose. It hurt but it wasn’t broken.

              “I’m so sorry, baby,” Chad said, trying to hug me. I knew he was sincere but I pushed him away.

              “Don’t touch me!” I cried, still in shock.
What is happening to us
, I wondered. Each incident alone was nothing to be concerned about but the off nights just kept piling up.

              I was too embarrassed to go back to the party so I changed into a t-shirt and boxers from my drawer of stuff and got in bed. Chad went to say goodnight to a few people and came to bed too. I was fine by then and I wasn’t angry; I knew it was an accident. So I let him hold me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said over and over.